For as I knelt in the fading light of the open entrance, I felt a quickening presence in the tent. The still air suddenly seemed to seethe with an almost oppressive power. My lungs laboured as if trying to breathe water. My hands began to shake uncontrollably; lest I drop the holy object, I placed it on the carpeted floor before me and, to keep my hands from trembling, clasped them tightly together in prayer.

'I am holding fast to God,' I prayed, 'and he is holding fast to me. I am holding fast to Christ, and he is holding fast to me. I am holding fast to the Spirit, and he is holding fast to me. The Great King, Lord of Heaven above and Earth below, holding fast to me!'

I placed my trembling hands on the holy object and prayed, 'Hear your servant, Lord and Master: I stand ready to do your will. Do not let this sacred treasure pass from the world through ignorance or careless disregard. My God and Saviour, let me redeem it from the hands of the unworthy who in their hateful pride and folly have disgraced, defiled, and demeaned your matchless gift.'

The thought that the unclean hands of unbelievers should touch this sacred relic filled me with a great disgust. I took up one of the many rugs which served as a floor for the tent and, reverently and prayerfully, wrapped the holy object in the rug and tied it with a braided cord I pulled from around a large jar containing pungent frankincense.

Then, in all reverence, I carefully replaced the Holy Rood in amongst the other items of plunder, rose, and crept from the tent. Having found the object of my quest, I did not want to allow my Seljuq captors any reason for suspicion. So, I left the tent before I was discovered, and returned to my place beside the well.

That night I lay awake gazing at the stars wheeling slowly overhead, and thinking about the Black Rood. I prayed over and over again that I might be accounted worthy to be the one to rescue it. As I held this prayer in my mind, I sensed the same quickening presence I felt in Ghazi's tent-a curious sensation. I once felt something like it in the woods when I suddenly became aware of someone, or something watching me as I knelt beside a stream for a drink of water. I slowly turned to see a large tufted wildcat crouched in a patch of sunlight a few dozen paces behind me.

Sleek, wild and powerful, muscles twitching, the magnificent creature stood with lowered head, its golden eyes aflame with a fierce intensity as it observed this odd new kind of prey. I had the same feeling now-as if I were being stalked by something of immense power, grace and subtlety; it had drawn near and fixed me in its burning gaze.

I looked across the silent camp to the amir's tent, dark and shadowy against the star-lit sky. Nothing in the camp moved; there was no sound.

The next thing I knew I was on my feet, moving towards the amir's tent. The guards were asleep; no one called out to stop me. And then I was inside. A small lamp, hanging from the central post cast a gently wavering light over the mound of treasure with which the amir impressed his many guests. I could hear the slow ebb and flow of the amir's breathing as he slept on his cushioned bed in the next room; only the cloth partition separated us.

Strangely, I felt no fear of discovery, although it would certainly have brought about immediate execution. On the contrary, I was bathed in a serenity of calm which gave me a feeling of fearless exultation as I set about gently shifting the various items of plunder in the amir's treasure trove in order to uncover the Black Rood. I moved one object and then another, and a few more, and then… the priceless relic lay before me.

'Great High King, reveal your glory through your servant,' I whispered. I said the first thing that came to mind only, but as soon as the words touched my lips, wonder of wonders, the tent began to fade around me-as if the fabric walls had become a thin, gauzy stuff allowing me to see, as through a veil, all the camp around me. Yet, it was not the camp I saw, but a busy road leading to the walls of a great city.

As I tried to make sense in what I was seeing, there arose a shout from the direction of the city. I looked towards the towering walls and saw a crowd of people emerging from the wide open gates.

With a cry like that of hounds scenting blood, this dark raging flood poured out from the city almost as swiftly as the dark storm clouds gathering in the dull yellow sky overhead. The blue-black bulging heads and shoulders of mighty clouds boiled in the stifling desert air, and away in the distance I could hear the low grumble of thunder.

There were others nearby, standing beside the road, waiting for the crowd to pass. I quickly joined them to see what was happening. The crowd came closer and soon reached the place where I was standing, and I saw that they were driving some poor wretch before them -prodding and shoving him along. As they drew near, I saw that his arms were tied to a rough-hewn wooden beam, and when he stumbled, they hauled him up by yanking on the ends of the beam and, once on his feet, they drove him on.

The crowd soon reached the place where I stood, but were so intent in the pursuit of their ambition they paid me no heed. They were a murderous rabble, it seemed to me; dirty beggars, street brawlers, and cudgelmen for the most part-although, here and there amidst the bedraggled mob the glint of a gold ring, a silver brooch, or the high, tapering crown of a well-made hat, gave me to know there were men of rank and power among them-and also a handful of soldiers, dressed in Roman armour.

As they hastened by, the prisoner stumbled and went down. Those foremost in the crowd snatched him upright again, and the pain made him gasp with agony, and I saw why: the wretch's back was a sodden expanse of mutilated skin and muscle forming a massive raw, gaping wound. Merciful God, great tattered shreds of flesh hung from his shoulders, ripped from his broad sturdy back by the wicked, iron-tipped Roman lash. Blood coursed freely down his sides, staining his torn robe and spattering the dusty road with each jolting step.

He took but one more step and fell again. They were on him in an instant, kicking at him and shouting for him to get up. Two soldiers shoved into the throng and while one began pushing people away, the other seized the end of the beam and untied the ropes binding the man's arms.

The crowd howled with rage and three more legionaries appeared and waded in, forcing the rabble back with the shafts of their short spears. One of the soldiers turned and seized a man-a huge black Ethiope on his way to the city, and who, like myself, was merely standing alongside the road watching the fearful procession. Too frightened to resist, the poor fellow was yanked into the wild maelstrom, and pressed into service.

Freed from the crushing burden of the beam, the wounded prisoner made to rise; he lifted his head and looked up, his eyes met my gaze, and my heart caught in my throat, for I knew I looked into the battered face of God's own dear son.